You Only Just Discovered the Sun
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: Because in the end, she was everything that was left of him.


**Author's Note: This was actually really intense for me to write and I hope it would have the same effect from a reader's point of view. It's my first Doctor Who fic and these specific characters are rather difficult simply because I love them too much, so I'm sort of anxious about how it turned out and I'd really like to hear what you think.**

**The songs used are respectively Moby's **_**The Last Day**_**, **_**Going to the West**_** by Connie Dover and **_**Miss **_**_Impossible_ by Poets of the Fall.**

_On the last day, you walked out in the sun_

_You only just discovered the sun on the last day_

_And on the last day, when this work is done_

_You only just discovered the sun on the last day_

He'd been putting it off for ages in the childish hope that this way it wouldn't have to end, but this time, when River asked him about the towers of Darillium, he said yes. Not because he wanted to, but because the excitement burning in her eyes was so captivating that he couldn't even imagine saying 'no' to anything she wanted.

The Doctor sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror, winning time which was supposedly spent on choosing clothes.

The singing towers of Darillium. Such an amazing place, and he'd started hating it so much by now. River could have gone there alone, he guessed, if she'd actually wanted it, but that wasn't the point. He'd been trying to distract her every time because after Darillium, there came the Library and then she'd be lost forever and so would he.

Because if they never actually got to Darillium, maybe he'd be able to cheat and keep her next to himself where no one would be able to hurt her and she wouldn't be able to hurt herself, as it had happened at the end. Not that this was such a big surprise and not that it would ever work. River had saved his life on more occasions that he would be able to count and she wasn't the type to stay safe, no matter where she was or who was the one accompanying her. She would get there anyway and the only thing that would change would be her last memory of him; Darillium wouldn't be there and the only thing that would happen was that even more would be gone and he wouldn't even realise it, because that was how it all happened with River – she was here one moment, gone the other and before he could figure out where she'd ended up this time and could find her, she had already left the trace he'd been following.

The Doctor closed his eyes, unable to face his reflection. He'd got all dressed up for the occasion and even the meeting they'd just had with their past selves hadn't managed to do anything to his concentration. All he could think of were River's words in the Library, over and over again and _time can be rewritten_ and _not those times not one line don't you dare_, again and again as his own mind mocked him for the hopelessness of this situation. What was the use of being a Time Lord if you couldn't save those who mattered? What was the _point_ if the only thing you could do was observe everything as it fades away?

Not that River would ever fade away; not really. She had came into his life with a bang and not a sign of a whimper and that was how she had went through it; like a shot in the darkness that left a burning, painful trail that one could never really cure even as time passed.

As they came out of the TARDIS, River started talking about a discovery she'd made about this place recently and, as he took in every word as if it were the last he'd ever hear, the Doctor found himself unable to utter a word while wishing he had enough time to say everything he had to her.

He didn't actually expect to get that, of course. Time had never been his friend.

_And where sun gives way to moon_

_And silver starlight fills the sky_

_In the arms of these last hills_

_Is where I'm bound to lie_

"I'm going on an expedition in two months," River said to him as they waited for the towers to start their song. It was a rather simple principle; at a certain moment the whole planet went quiet and the only thing that could be heard was the wind that went through the finely made walls of the towers.

It was getting dark and the sun had already disappeared into the depths of the ocean behind them. The two moons appeared on the two ends of the horizon, meeting halfway in the middle of the night but never quite close enough to look like one single source of light. |The trees were light beige with dark blue leaves, and the Doctor felt mesmerized by it all as River's head rested on his shoulder; the fine curls tickling his arm gently as she took in her surroundings as well.

"Really?" His voice was quieter than he'd intended it to be, but she didn't seem to notice. "Where to?"

"The Library." She smiled up at him. They were sitting on the grass and the Doctor felt the desperate need to carve each and every little detail of this in his mind. "You could come along, if you'd like. I'll send you a note."

"Do it," he said. River snorted sceptically. "No, really, do it," he insisted. "I'd love to come."

Her smile widened and the Doctor took in a shaky breath. He couldn't break down; not tonight. _I'll be there_, he wanted to say. _I'll be there for you, always_. But there was some strange feeling, either unknown or long-forgotten, and it threatened to burn him whole and what actually came out was, "I love you."

There was a moment of silence and then a soft, "I know."

Just then, every little sound around them stopped and, as a last chance to speak before the song started, he managed a "How?"

"You said it, remember? In Berlin? You said that you loved me."

It took him a while to get to the memory in question, because the first thing he associated with Berlin when it came to River was a day on New Earth where they'd went a few nights after she had been imprisoned in Stormcage. She had mostly escaped to show them how it's done, the Doctor had guessed, but on his side it had been a tentative attempt to get to know her at the beginning; so young, so gentle. She was still so young, it suddenly struck him. She had chosen a face that would make her look mature, but she was probably barely thirty. Had she been raised on Gallifrey, she'd just have been beginning.

The Doctor shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts out, too. "No. I told Melody Pond to tell River Song that I love her. But I've never– I love you, and I've never said–"

"You never needed to. I always know, remember?"

"You always know," he echoed as they both heard the gentle hum of the towers intensifying.

River had closed her eyes, the breeze moving her hair almost unnoticeably. She seemed absolutely relaxed as she listened and he had never been so close to her as he was right then, and she had never been more beautiful than she had been minutes ago, when she'd talked about her discoveries and about the Library where she'd be able to see and _know_ to her heart's content.

The Doctor felt the tears as they slid down his cheeks and he wrapped his arms around River, drawing her closer as sobs shook his body and he cried for the future that would never be and for all the days that would never come now that she was so close to going to the place which would trap her, contain her, which was the thing that she hated most in the world. He cried for the time that could be rewritten only when it was River controlling it and not him and for the fire that made her prefer to go out in flames rather than let other people die and, as he buried his head in her shoulder, her hand sank in his hair. "I know," she repeated softly.

"You couldn't possibly," he objected, his voice muffled by the fabric of her dress.

"I always know, sweetie."

And somehow, this endearment was both better and worse than anything else she could have said, because it was so uniquely _them_ that the Doctor felt as if his heart was torn into a million pieces in the most beautiful way possible and this was it, right then, because he had always known that she'd be the death of him, one way or another.

Hours later, when he'd already given her the screwdriver – his own, but modified and better; he would ask the TARDIS for a new one later – he wanted to say a proper goodbye, but River just kissed him and then, with a flash of light and the smell of ozone in the air, she was gone in the same instant as the song of the towers ended and then the world was drowned in silence.

_She can see about four satellites every minute of the hour_

_And find a four leaf clove where you never saw a flower_

_She's habitually paradoxical, a parallel perpendicular_

_Barefoot in nightgowns, that's how she dances in the rain_

_Sundown to sundown, like she was washing 'way her pain_

The artist's hand confidently moved over the paper as he, stroke after stroke, copied the photo the Doctor had given him on the paper.

He didn't have many pictures of River, not because she was too shy to have her photo taken (he almost laughed at the thought) but because she saw no point in them. The way she saw it, she could go wherever and whenever she wanted, so what would be the purpose of freezing one moment forever? Which meant he only had two photos of her – one was in France, from the time before she had got her Vortex Manipulator, when she had said she'd always wanted to meet Marie Antoinette. Her hair had been tamed into a bun and she had been wearing a midnight blue dress and a golden necklace with sapphires on it. When it came to combat, River could be the most practical person with her clothes, but she loved dressing up for any occasion she got.

The Doctor had thought about bringing that photo for the portrait, but then he'd decided against it. As beautiful as it was, it wasn't entirely her, and that would ruin the whole idea of a portrait. He wanted something loud and drawing attention because that was what she had been like.

"She's beautiful," the man said quietly. "What is she?"

The Doctor had managed to convince him that he was human – deleting himself from history and all that – and he'd fallen for it, so it was a mystery how he could guess River's alienness from a picture was beyond him but then again, he'd never been able to understand artists. After the smallest pause, he replied, "A Time Lady."

Because really, he was supposed to be the Time Lord, but the laws of the Universe were always bending when she asked for it and when she could not stop for Time, Time kindly stopped for her. She had lived much, much less that he had but she had been everywhere, made everything her own and then had burned, not like a meteorite falling quietly into the night, but with the power of an exploding star – getting brighter and brighter every day until eventually, she scattered herself in the whole of cosmos, too powerful and too restless for the body to keep up with her.

"Oh. They were an odd bunch, weren't they? No offense, like."

The Doctor let out a choked laugh. This was New York in year 4283 – he and River had been on the ball drop here once, when the locals had celebrated the millennium of the same century – and people were much more open about saying anything they thought of. "None taken. Yes, they were."

Now, looking at the photo he'd chosen, he could understand both the comment about her beauty and how he'd figured out that she was an alien. On the picture, River was in her bed on the TARDIS and she was looking sideways-up at the camera. Her hair – golden with a taste of honey on the first rays of the sun (well, the simulation of one, since the TARDIS didn't really have windows) was like a cloud around her head and the Doctor felt as if he could reach and touch the soft surface of her curls. Her eyes were like the sea in a sunny afternoon on Hymera-3 where he'd taken her on their so-called honeymoon – all the shades of blue and green with a touch of golden, and they were staring straight at him, just like it had been in that morning nearly a year ago for him. There was a small smile playing on those perfect lips and her whole face was surprisingly open and yet still secretive as the last remnants of sleep were chased away.

"Oh, River," he sighed, having completely forgotten that he wasn't alone.

"Was that what she was called?" The artist asked, raising his head from his paining. The Doctor nodded, momentarily disoriented. "'S a pretty name. Never met a Gallifreyan, myself," he continued timidly. "What was she like, your River?"

"Oh, she was never mine." It sounded ridiculous even in his head to call her his – or anyone's really, but the man misunderstood him. "Was it unrequited love, then?"

"No." The Doctor could barely hear his own voice. "She loved me too." It was somehow easier to talk about it with a stranger; simply knowing that he'd never meet that man again. "But she didn't belong to anyone. She was her own and everything else was hers."

A Time Lady, indeed. Showing the Universe how it's done, simply because she could.

"It's ready," the artist said carefully after several minutes of silence. "You can come see it now."

The Doctor stood up from his chair and stared at the painting intently. He'd done an amazing job, he had to admit it. There it was, that quiet, daring smile and the never-ending fire in her eyes. And, despite her lack of affection for photos, the Doctor though that maybe she would have liked this; that a part of her would be forever in the TARDIS, her TARDIS, where she'd began in the first place. All of time and space, and it would all be hers, because in the end, she was everything left of him as well. Always there, despite the knowledge that the beginning for him would be the end for her. Always everywhere and anywhere at once.

Just her. Showing the Universe how it's done.


End file.
